


Table for Two

by jamie55



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Oneshot, in my head he's working to convince Naomi not to fire a bunch of people to save money, jo the shipper, or something of the sorts, roadhouse is a dinner-bar place, somehow nearly 2k???? how. why. ugh., that's not really a spoiler, very very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:58:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamie55/pseuds/jamie55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“oh no it’s the horrible lady with the glasses again i refuse to take her order - wait who’s that hottie with her? it’s alright guys, i’ll take one for the team” au -</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table for Two

**Author's Note:**

> okay so it's been a while since i wrote any fanfic and i've never done spn - but i've read quite a bit. My point is I'm rusty and decided to break my piss-luck-lazy writing streak by doing. And look it only took what 7 hours? Sigh. Mind you that is including like lunch break and lots of procrastination (including a longish art break). Tada...
> 
> prompt from andquitefrankly on tumblr: “oh no it’s the horrible lady with the glasses again i refuse to take her order - wait who’s that hottie with her? it’s alright guys, i’ll take one for the team” au -

Prompt from andquitefrankly on tumblr “oh no it’s the horrible lady with the glasses again i refuse to take her order - wait who’s that hottie with her? it’s alright guys, i’ll take one for the team” au -

 

———————————-

“She’s back,” Jo said without preamble, eyes wide.

“Who?” Dean asked. It was a quiet Tuesday night and Dean was bored. He’d only come to the Roadhouse because - well he didn’t really have much else to do on Tuesday night. Not that the dinner/bar had much to entertain him, not while Jo and Benny and had to actually work instead of goof-off.

“Shush you,” Ellen threw a rag at his head. “Jo, who’s back?”

“That lady I nearly strangled.”

Ellen frowned.

“The one with the _immaculate_ bun hair,” she gestured, distraughtly, “and the _pristine_ suit who made fifty adjustments on her order.”

“Oh her,” Ellen let out a breath.

“Yeah, HER.” Jo adjusted her posture, shoulders back, brushing her hair over her shoulder and mocked. “ _I’d like the chicken salad, but with tuna instead of chicken and make sure none of the leaves are wilted and have the vinegrette on the side and some apple pie, warmed for 20 seconds, with whip-cream, but only if it’s made with real cream otherwise just the pie but cold._ ” She ended her bit with a groan (URGH) and slumped back against the counter. “She even brought a friend with her. How. Why.”

Ellen put a hand on her hip and gave her an utterly unimpressed.

“What if he’s worse.”

“How?” Dean asked after a moment of consideration.

“I don’t know. He might have brought HIS own menu and expect us to cook it."

“Jo.”

“Mom I can’t.” She shook her head, begging, “Please - I canNOT.”

“Yes you can.”

“There’s gonna be some sort of child abuse law against this.”

“Joanna Beth!”

“Oh come’on,” Dean grinned, “I’m sure Harry and Sally aren’t that bad.”

Jo turned to him, a glint in her eye. “Alright you do ‘em.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You know the menu by heart, heck you designed half the pies. You take their order.”

“What - I… I can’t - I’m not -” He looked to Ellen for support but she merely shrugged.

“So long as someone serves them.”

“Uh..”

“What’s wrong.” Jo teased, “Don’t you think you handle it?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, glaring back. “Give me your apron.”

Jo grinned and untied it, handing him a pencil and notepad as well. “There in the booth by the window. Blonde in a bun and black sex hair.”

Dean paused at that. “Excuse me.”

“That’s what it looks like,” Jo shrugged. “If you need me I’ll be in the can.”

Dean grumbled his way to the table, looking down as he tied the damn apron around his hip. He managed the tasked in time to look up, plastered and practised smug-grin in place, at the booth in question.

“Good evening folks, “he grinned at the blonde woman, “my name is Dean-”

“Irrelevant.” She sigh. She sat back, back straight, hands linked over the menu which sat on the table.

“Uh.” Dean blinked.

Her companion seemed to take pity on him though. “Hello Dean.” Dean spun to see sex-hair for the first time. He met his eye, with disastrous hair and ocean-eyes, and gave him a small smile.

Dean felt his stomach twist in something that was much more than mere gratefulness. “Hello,” he smiled awkwardly before ducking his head and clearing his throat. “So have uh - have you decided on what to eat?”

“I have,” the woman said, and Dean held his pencil in ready attention. “I’ll take the chicken with bechamel sauce, on the side, no lumps. Accompanying pastry similarly on the side, set at room temperature. What are the vegetables.”

“The what?”

“The vegetables served with the meal.”

“Right uh - this would be-”

“Vol au vent.”

“Right, right! I knew that. It comes with peas and carrots.”

“Are the peas fresh?”

“Uh-”

“Nevermind. I’ll take carrots, no peas.”

“Right. They come mixed together?”

“Unmix them.”

Dean bit his lip. “Sure things.” He jotted it down and turned to sex-hair. “What about you.”

“I’ll have the Roady-Cheeseburger, please.”

“Right,” he paused waiting for more but the man simply looked up, all doe-eyed and with this knowing half smile and - “uh.. That’s all?”

“And some coffee. If there’s any.”

“Make that two.”

“Yes M’am. Sir. Sure. Excellent choice.”

“And water,” the woman said

“Right. I’ll just -” He backed away, as nonchalantly as possible and rushed back behind the bent, to the counter and kitchen. Jo was sitting, calmly cleaning her nails.

“Back already?”

“I don’t like her.”

“Tell me about it. Benny might just bite her head off.” He said clipping the order sheet up for the cook himself.

“Ha.”

He grabbed a few cups and jug of water and went back to the table.

“Naomi, with all due respect I don’t believe it the best solution -” Sex-hair stopped abruptly, leaning back to allow Dean a place to put the cups. He gave him a quick gratuious nod but turned back to blonde-lady (Naomi) just as quickly.

“It is the simplest - excuse me. Where’s the ice.”

“Huh,” Dean looked up and down. The jug of water was iceless. “Guess it melted,” he shrugged.

Naomi shook her head, “Well then I guess we need some fresh water. With ice.”

The customer is always right.

Dean gave gave her a tight smile, despite his cheek twitch. “Of course.” He turned back, marching to the counter, grabbed a fresh jug and marched back.

“The numbers fit,” Naomi said to sex-hair. “You’ve said it yourself.”

“It is a solution, but it isn’t the only solution and it isn’t the right solution. Thank you,” he said when Dean poured their cups. He nodded and turned back around.

He and Jo shot the breeze for a while, gossipping about asshats and jerkheads until Jo had to service a few tables and Dean’s orders were up. Benny was displeased but the plates were perfect.

When Dean got to the table, sex-hair was alone and the table was littered with documents.

“Woah.”

Sex-hair abruptly looked up and let out a breath. “Hello, oh,” he looked at the plates and at the table. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay uh, you might want to clear up a bit of room though.”

“Of course,” he said gathering his things. They were graphs and numbers. Lots of numbers.

“Business dinner?”

“Yes,” sex-hair said with a sigh.

“Hmm. Couldn’t get it elsewhere?”

The man looked up, frowning, and Dean - like some pubescent teen - was momentarily struck with a ‘holy crap your hot’ brain-freeze.

“I mean, uh,” he took a breath and licked his lips. “This isn’t really a business meeting sort of joint. Mostly.”

“This meeting is.. Impromptu. But the location is quite suitable. And pleasant. And it was within walking distance of the office.”

Dean grinned. “Food’s not bad either,” he said, setting the burger down.

“Thank you.”

“No problemo,” he said putting down the second order. “I’ll be right back with your coffees.”

By the time he was back, so was Naomi. She ignored him as he set down her drink, as sex-hair man offered him a gratuitous smile while he prattled on about some sort of long-term cost-efficient strategy.

Dean checked up on them every ten minutes or so, catching sex-hair’s eye every time and relishing the small smiles he offered. It was nice to see the stress seep from his eyes, if only for few seconds.

In between that, he chatted with Jo and Benny. Jo insisted that blonde-bun was much more manageable this evening because of bed-hair’s presence, while Dean insisted that it was thanks to his charming personality.

“Charming?” Jo said with a mocking smile.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Not the word I would use.”

He scoffed. “I’m adorable.”

“Yeah right.”

“Whatever. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna check on my adoring guests.”

He turned the corner and, with the booth in sight, his stomach sunk. It was empty. Upon further inspection he found no coat, no jacket or bag, nothing to indicate they might have stepped out momentarily. He did however find a 50$ bill.

“That’s a decent tip,” Jo nodded in approval.

“I didn’t even bring ‘em the bill.”

“Well the prices are on the menu,” she said grabbing the cash.

“Hey, I earned that.”

“Relax, I’m just breaking it for you.”

“Whatever,” he said, sitting down with a pout. “It’s rude. Just leaving. Without waiting for the bill.”

“Slow service.”

“Hey, I’m quick. I’m a excellent service - cer...” Jo gave him a knowing look and Dean looked away, annoyed. “You know what I mean.”

“Uh huh. Here’s tip.”

He grumbled a thanks and left soon afterwards.

The rest of the week was peacefully occupied with work work work. Bobby had gotten some free advertisement when Dean had entered his impala to a car show the week before. He had given away nearly a hundred business cards and word had gotten out. It was great - for business. His nights suffered the toll. He spent all of Friday night and most of Saturday fixing up a ‘67 Mustang which was in desperate need of care. The poor thing had been abandoned in a basement for 25 years. When Bobby found out he came in on Sunday, he threw a fit, so Sunday was indeed Dean’s day of rest and as such he decided not to cook.

“Oh my god Dean,” Jo greeted him when he walked in. “Where have you been all week?!”

“Work. Home.” He paused. “Nah, that’s about it. I lead a thrilling and exciting life.”

“Whatever, he’s probably gonna come in later anyway.”

“Who?”

“Remember Tuesday?”

“Vaguely.”

“The guy with the messy hair?”

“Oh yeah,” he grinned. “Wait, why?”

Jo grinned. “He has been coming in every day since.”

“Huh. Must’ve really like that burger.”

“Yeah, except that he’s always looking around and seems slightly disappointed whenever I come to take his order.”

“Guess you’re not his type,” he smirked.

“Ha ha. He even asked once or twice who else was working.”

Dean frowned, “so you think-”

Behind him, the door swung and a gentle bell chimed, announcing a new patron.

Jo’s smile widened and her eyes went wide.

Dean froze. He could feel it behind him, someone staring, their presence invading his senses.

“Hey Castiel,” Jo grinned.

“Castiel?” Dean spun around to find sex-hair man, blushing. Embarrassed? Like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You remember Dean, right,” Jo said cheerfully.

Castiel nodded, eyes still fixed on Dean’s. “Hello Dean.”

“Uh. Hi.”

He looked down, thinning his lips apologetically, “you might not recall, I.. Was here Tuesday evening and left before you were able to present my bill.”

“Yeah. No, yeah I recall. You left a 50,” he grinned awkwardly, nodding slightly. “Thanks for that.”

“I hope it was sufficient.”

“Yeah no, it was great - I mean. You left kinda quick. I mean -”

“So,” Jo cut in, “how about I get you two a table.”

“Uh,” Dean glanced nervously back. “Like for two?”

“Uh huh,” she hummed. “That sound good?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s just - I’m fine - I’m - I’m good. What uh,” he turned back, “Cas, what would uh. Would you like to…” He gestured over to the booths. “For dinner.”

“I would love to,” Castiel smiled. It crinkled his eyes. Somehow it made Dean forget all about his sore hands and bruised knees. It quickly lead to him focusing on how dirty his nails were and how messy his current shirt was.

“Great,” he smiled despite himself. “Table for two, then.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still figuring out proper formatting so forgive me if the italics dont show up. Also this isn't really how i would put out Naomi's character - so that irks me slightly but whatever. Can you tell how badly i want to finish it by the end. ugh. hopefully not.


End file.
